


Chasing a Shadow

by HiMiTSu



Series: Home of Shadows [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Dark, Gangster Stereotypes, M/M, Mention Of Homophobia, Mob AU, Mob Boss Percival Graves, OCs Death, Past Abuse, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:11:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9323069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiMiTSu/pseuds/HiMiTSu
Summary: The first time Credence got kidnapped was the worst.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone for your wonderful comments! I usually try to reply to all the feedback I get and this time there was so much I got tired of typing up the replies XD Which is a great thing actually, so please don’t stop;) It is very encouraging and I wrote this continuation in a couple of days!
> 
> This is set months after Credence came to live at the mansion. I wanted to expand on his feelings and his progress.
> 
> (Unfortunately I do not remember how Credence called Mary Lou. Was it Mother, Mommy or Ma? I used a version that seemed the most likely but if anyone actually remembers please let me know!)

It was hard to breathe. He kept gulping cold air but it never seemed to reach his lungs and the pressure was building in his chest, resolving into a sharp pain at his temples. Blood pumped through his veins, the drumbeat picking up and consuming his being. His heart beat rabbit fast; it felt like it was going to burst out through his ribcage. He floundered, hands flying all over, grabbing at the air until…

Until his fingers closed around a soft fabric, twisting it in his fist. Credence’s eyes flew open. His mouth formed a silent scream and finally, _finally_ , managed to grab some air.

The dark canopy above came into focus and his mind slowed down to accept the reality around.

He was at the mansion. Mr. Graves’s house.

Credence let out a long breath and tried to relax.

He was in a safe place now. And, even though the nightmares chased him even into the safety of his new home, in the waking hours he felt protected. Mr. Graves had promised, and Mr. Graves always kept his promises. He was the first one. No one else Credence knew bothered with keeping their word. Maybe with some exception of Ma – she always remembered her punishments.

Credence’s hand gripped the sheets so tightly he felt the threads between his fingertips but he didn’t let those thoughts take over. One ugly dream for the night was enough. He lay there in the silence and the darkness just breathing and reminding himself that he was in a completely different place now. This house was never completely quiet, just like the church Mary Lou Barebone used to run, but in a completely different way. Whether back there Credence could always hear voices at night, some kids that came for a shelter downstairs, their hushed conversations and soft laughs – what did they have to laugh about, he wondered. And a soft whisper of an evening prayer from Chastity’s room. And the wind, always cold, tearing though thin walls and small cracks, howling in the dark corridors. Wood, weak and rotten, creaking with its last breath. Credence wasn’t scared of the dark, but he was scared of that laden silence, full of dark promises.

Here at the mansion the nights were still dark and the cold spread through the corridors when it was particularly chilly outside. But here Credence cold always put a huge soft blanket over his shoulders and burrow into the soft sheets. In winter, Mr. Stradford would light a fire in a small fireplace in the bedroom and it would warm up the air and make the room feel cozy. The old house also creaked but it didn’t sound as if it was about to fall to pieces.

Most nights Credence lay in bed, listening to the sounds of his new home and waiting for a familiar set of footsteps to pass by his door. Mr. Graves occupied the room down the hall, ever since Credence had taken over his, and it was a comfort of sorts to know that Mr. Graves was home and safe.

 _This is unhealthy_ , the voice of Credence’s Ma whispered in his ear. It spit the words out at him in cold fury. _Unnatural. Filthy. Disgusting._ And Credence wanted to put a pillow over his ear to shut her out but then he would not hear Mr. Graves. So he stayed, on his back in a huge bed, watching the shadows dance on the ceiling. They were strong people, both his Ma and Mr. Graves, but when one used her power to hurt him and Modesty, the other protected. Mr. Graves had helped Credence. Mr. Graves was taking care of him. Mr. Graves had _saved_ him. And Mr. Graves never asked for anything in return. Even though…even though Credence wanted, desperately, to answer his kindness, to care for him back. 

Credence longed for something he couldn’t name. He only knew that Mr. Graves was at the center of it, like he had planted himself in Credence’s heart, became a part of his soul.

In the night, before the nightmares would take him, Credence allowed himself to face his darkest thoughts. Mary Lou would have beat his palms raw had she known…had she known…

Credence fought the shameful tingle in the corner of his eye, tears of shame and fear that he did not need to be shed anymore. It was alright, he reminded himself harshly. There was no one to call him an abomination, no one to hurt him anymore. He could just…he could just…

He could close his eyes and think of how wonderful Mr. Graves’s touch felt. Only a brush of a hand, on his shoulder or his arm or the back of his neck when Mr. Graves had guided the way while showing Credence the house. Or just a simple pat when he wanted to show that he was pleased. And lately, lately, Mr. Graves took to ruffling his hair, gently, almost teasingly and always with a smile. It was tiny, that smile, it barely curved his lips, and Credence could not help but notice those lips, but it shone in his eyes as well.

Credence craved more of his touch. Needed it. Wanted to be enveloped whole.

He knew Mr. Graves held him on _that night_. But Credence didn’t remember much of it. All the memories that still stayed were of fear and anger and blood. He locked away that part of himself. Even though he could still feel it; the darkness lurked in his blood, terrifying but alluring.

Once again Credence had to chase it away, clear his thoughts, fill them with something more appropriate.

He glanced at the clock. It was still hours until dawn and with the winter hours it would be even longer before the sun would come up. Credence turned on his side and pressed his face into the pillow, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Mr. Graves had said Credence could come see him at any time if he needed something. Credence needed sleep, but alone in a room, he knew it would not come so easily. He toyed with the idea of climbing out of bed, out through the door, down the corridor on tiptoes and then rapping on Mr. Graves’s door, to be allowed inside, and into Mr. Graves’s bed and into his warm embrace. Sleep would surely come easy then.

Credence turned again, leaving the idea completely. He was welcome at the house but he was not sure how welcome he would be in Mr. Graves’s arms.

He stared at the wall and counted seconds until sunrise.

 

* * *

 

“Mr. Stradford said you wanted to see me.” Credence hovered in the doorway, unsure if he was allowed into Mr. Graves’s office. It was one room in the house that stayed locked whenever Mr. Graves wasn’t using it and even the staff was not trusted with cleaning inside. Mr. Stradford looked after it personally and even that during Mr. Graves’s slow working hours. So Credence waited, leaning on the doorframe and looking around anxiously.

Mr. Graves’s office was decorated in the same style as the library. Dark red wood and deep green drapery.

“Yes,” Mr. Graves looked up from his laptop. “Please, come it.”

Credence stepped over the threshold slowly, feeling like he was invading new waters. He perched at the edge of a sofa and gripped his hands tightly in his lap.

“I had some news about your sister.” Mr. Graves said; his voice sounded closer than Credence anticipated. He looked up to see the other man on his way from the desk to the sofa. He held a slim folder in one hand, which he passed to Credence.

“They placed her in a nice home.” Mr. Graves explained.

Credence thought about asking who ‘they’ were; the government or Mr. Graves’s men? But it didn’t matter in the end.

“That’s good.” He saw the copies of adoption papers and some pictures of a family. They looked happy, nice. Modesty was a good girl, she would fit in.

“I also started an account in her name, she will be able to access the money once she is of age. Just…to help her out a little.”

Credence nodded and closed the folder; there was nothing in it for him. He really wanted to ask why Mr. Graves was so kind to them, but he was scared. Scared that Mr. Graves would come to his senses and realize that there truly was no need to take care of a pair of orphans.

“What is it?” Mr. Graves asked, probably reading his troubled expression.

Credence bit his lip and dug his fingers into the fabric of his trousers. It was overwhelming, such benevolence. It was terrifying – the idea of Mr. Graves seeing Credence’s true value, of being thrown out of this place, torn away from this man.

“Credence.”

He jerked at the touch, delicate brush of fingers to his chin. Mr. Graves’s thumb grazed his bottom lip, coaxing his teeth to let go. Only then did Credence notice a metallic taste on his tongue and a sting at his skin – he had bitten too hard. He swallowed and looked away. “Thank you,” he said at last.

Mr. Graves’s hand slid down his neck, a sweet brush at his collarbone, and disappeared.

“It’s nothing,” Mr. Graves replied. “Have you settled in alright?”

It’s been months and Mr. Graves kept asking the question. “Yes, everything is good. Do you…” Credence peeked up at him and glanced aside again. It felt intense, to have Mr. Graves’s eyes only on him, unwavering gaze studying his expressions, his reactions. “Do you want to take your room back?”

Mr. Graves laughed, quietly, and shook his head. “It is your room now. I can’t bear the thought of taking it away from you. Mr. Stradford says you like it.”

“It is nice.” It was a wonder; the room that belonged to Mr. Graves before now was rightfully his. There was some intimacy in that.

“That’s good.” Mr. Graves was hesitating, Credence could feel the tense atmosphere and it was making him anxious as well. He wanted to know what was on the other man’s mind but was apprehensive to ask, “Would you like to see her?”

“Uh…her?”

“Modesty.” Mr. Graves explained and Credence breathed out in relief. It wasn’t any topic he was dreading. It was however, a difficult subject.

He said, carefully. “I don’t think my visit would be appreciated, Mr. Graves.”

“That is…reasonable. But I thought I’d ask anyway. Because if you do wish to see her,” in his relief Credence got a bout of confidence and now that Mr. Graves was looking straight at him he allowed the man to catch his gaze. “You only need to ask.”

“Thank you, Mr. Graves. But…maybe sometimes later.” Credence shrugged. He missed Modesty but after that night he was sure she must think him to be a monster. Strangely, Credence wasn’t too bothered by that.

“Alright,” Mr. Graves conceded and leaned back, relaxed now.

“I do, however,” Credence continued, unexpectedly bold. “Would like to go out…” It came sounding like a question, and a weak one too. But he was looking at Mr. Graves and felt secure enough to ask so he went on. “I like staying at the house but it could be nice to go back in town…” Another weak request and he cursed himself for been so weak-willed.

Mr. Graves considered him for a moment, eyes narrowed in contemplation. “Fine. I’ll get you a driver. He will take you wherever you want.”

Credence felt a smile tug at his lips, feeble but happy. “Thank you.”

You’d think it was the only thing he knew to say; two words he kept repeating again and again to this man. Nevertheless, Credence knew his gratitude would never run out and he would never tire.

Mr. Graves reach out and ruffled his hair gently. It had been growing out lately; Mr. Stradford had said that a little more and Credence would have a decent hairstyle. But Credence liked it merely because of moments like that one.

 

* * *

 

“I should probably teach you how to shoot.”

Credence’s first reaction was to say that he didn’t like weapons. But the words stuck in his throat; it did not fit well. He didn’t like weapons, he didn’t like violence and still…saying it would sound like a lie. And Credence didn’t lie.

There was something mysterious about weapons and the power they gave. Despite all logic and morale, Credence had a spring of interest taking root inside. Still he asked, “Is it really necessary?”

Mr. Graves narrowed his eyes at him, “For protection, I suppose. This house,” he indicated at the pale walls of the dining room. “Is a safe place. It has security. It has people. But if you wish to venture outside you might need more…protection.”

Credence frowned and asked, tentatively. “Is this about my trip today?”

He liked calling it like that – ‘trips’. Little journeys to the outside world that made him love this home even more. The outside had never been kind to Credence, with the exception of Mr. Graves, so he had everything his soul might need right here. But going out, it was a silly entertainment. He enjoyed it from time to time. Not to mention it allowed him to go looking for a perfect birthday present for Mr. Graves.

That particular day was not without its downside, but Credence found himself strangely uncaring about the whole thing.

“Keith said that madman attacked you.”

So the driver did tattle. Credence hoped he wouldn’t, but then again, reporting to Mr. Graves was part of Keith’s duties.

“He was just angry. It’s nothing.”

“He grabbed you.”

Credence very carefully did not reach to massage his shoulder. A bruise was blooming there and, even though Mr. Stradford had helped him tend to the injury, it still felt a little sore. “It’s alright.” He assured. In the back of his mind a treacherous voice wondered, why was he even fighting this?

“Still…” Mr. Graves looked like he would keep insisting but in the end he looked away and gave up. “Think about it.” Was all he asked.

Credence nodded, eyes studying the man’s profile carefully. Mr. Graves looked troubled and in the dim lighting of the dining room, the shadows under his eyes stood out terribly. He seemed tired. Some problems with a raising gang in Brooklyn, Credence knew. He wished he could help. There was nothing he could do to aide with the business, but here, in this house, he wanted to sooth Mr. Graves’s worries. To put his hands on those shoulders, ease the designer jacket off them, and chase away the tension with his palms. He wondered how all that muscle would feel under his touch. Mr. Graves looked lean in these clean-cut suits but there was strength underneath all the sharp lines.

“Mr. Graves?”

“Hm?”

Credence watched him push around a piece of pie on his plate for a long moment. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Mr. Graves’s gaze skipped up to meet his. “Why?”

“You look tired. I just wondered…if there is anything I can do to make you feel better?” Was it too forward? Was it too ambiguous?

Mr. Graves regarded him silently, considering. What he said next was certainly unexpected. “Would you read to me?”

“Read?” Credence echoed, not fully understanding. “Read what?”

“Just a book.” Mr. Graves shrugged and pushed away his plate. Mr. Stradford would not be pleased about the half-finished pie, but it seemed Mr. Graves was too tired to mind. He would pay for his carelessness later, they both knew. “Whatever you are reading right now.”

“I, uh…I started on Oscar Wilde,” Credence admitted.

“That will do.”

Mr. Graves got to his feet and pulled Credence’s chair for him. They moved to the library after that, to a large plush sofa that Credence found too big for one person but fit the two of them comfortably. He picked up his book and settled by Mr. Graves’s side, tense. His voice wavered at first, as he read aloud the pleading notes of Dorian Gray’s artist friend. The scene was tense with a darkness looming ahead and soon Credence got so engrossed he forgot his shyness and hesitation and read in a clear strong voice. Mr. Graves’s hand found a way into his hair again, coaxing Credence’s head to his shoulder and they sank into the sofa cushions and relaxed against each other. Mr. Graves was asleep even before they got to the murder scene but Credence still continued reading audibly.

Despite the action that was developing on the pages, the darkness of it, he felt content.

 

* * *

 

 “Moping around would not make the time fly faster.”

Credence stared back at Mr. Stradford, hoping his silence alone would be enough of a reply. The elder man certainly had his own unique style in running the house. He was polite and helpful, as his job and manners required, but he could also be uncompromisingly straightforward. Credence liked that about him but not at that particular moment.

“Please, don’t give me that look, Mr. Credence,” the housekeeper rolled his eyes. He was in the process of dusting off the living room. He carefully swiped over the mantelpiece, mindful of a few art pieces decorating it. “I’m merely suggesting that taking up some hobby might prove to be more productive.”

“What kind of a hobby?” Credence asked with a note of petulance. He was bored after all, but no book could hold his attention for long. He sprawled in an armchair, sideways as always, and inspected the ceiling.

Mr. Stradford, caught by surprise, hummed thoughtfully. He apparently wasn’t expecting Credence to give up so quickly. “Learning a new language, perhaps?”

“That…requires a lot of concentration.” Credence said. “And intelligence.”

“And you have both in bouts.” Mr. Stradford reassured. He had moved onto the chest of drawers in the corner. Credence, even though he had been living at the house for half a year now, had no idea what those drawers were for. “Well, maybe not right at the moment.” Mr. Stradford commented with a sidelong glance. “You are very distracted lately.”

“I’m just…” Credence waved his hand helplessly. He was bored, yes. But he was also miserable without Mr. Graves to keep him company. Business had stolen Mr. Graves away to another part of the country and the house felt incredibly empty without his presence.

“You miss Mr. Graves, of course.” Mr. Stradford had always been perceptive. Something clinked as he rearranged the items in the first drawers; it sounded like glass. “Thus taking up a task to distract yourself could be a good idea.” He glanced at Credence again. His eyes were narrowed and lips pulled tight as he thought. “Maybe an entertaining move? I have some classics I can recommend.”

“I’m not interested in TV…” Credence wrinkled his nose. He had never shared the modern passion for television. Maybe because Mary Lou had always forbidden her children to watch it, calling it one of devil’s devices, or maybe he wasn’t interested in all the made-up worlds. Modesty enjoyed them though. She sneaked out sometimes, and used the meager money she managed to save up for trips to the movies. Credence wondered whether he would be interested in going to the movie theater if Mr. Graves came along with him. That sounded significantly more plausible.

“Music?” Mr. Stradford suggested next. “We can hire a tutor.”

“Bringing a stranger to the house?” Credence asked carefully.

“I know some trustworthy people.” The housekeeper replied. He shrugged, “Even the driver, James, can play a guitar. I’m sure he would be happy to give you a few lessons. God knows, he needs something to do as well.”

Since Mr. Graves had left his personal driver kept hanging around at the house, mostly chatting with the cook and the gardener at the kitchen. Every time their paths crossed in the corridors, Credence noted that the young man was bored out of his mind. He was supposed to be on call, in case Mr. Graves’s trip would be cut short, which meant he had to stick around during his work hours. By the look permanently plastered on his face, he wished to be anywhere but here. Which did not mean he’d agree to give Credence music lessons. James was very wary of him, that much was obvious.

“No,” Credence shot down Mr. Stradford’s idea. “But I do think getting out of the house might do me some good.”

“Out?” Mr. Stradford slid the drawer closed with a thud. “Is that wise? Without Mr. Graves in town…”

“I’m sure it will be fine. Keith will be with me, of course.”

Credence climbed to his feet in one swift move and balanced himself with one hand on the armrest. “Thank you, Mr. Stradford.”

Taking a trip to the city sounded better with every moment. He could go through some shops, get himself another sweater; he had grown very fond of those comfy over-sized sweaters that made Mr. Stradford cringe but always amused Mr. Graves. He could also pick up a nice tie for the other man. A little present upon his return.

 

* * *

 

Credence screamed but a hand clamped down on his mouth and prevented any sound from escaping. His eyes watered as he struggled against the hands holding him, dragging him away from the main street and through a narrow alley at the other end of which a car with tinted windows was parked. He thrashed wildly and dug his fingers into the arm around his chest but his strength wasn’t enough.

He couldn’t breathe. He tried gulping down air but the hand around his mouth made it impossible. He was starting to feel light-headed. The world swam before his eyes, tilting and spinning – a whirlwind of dirty colors and clear blue skies. There was red, somewhere at the corner of his vision but only later Credence remembered it and recognized it as blood.

It wasn’t fear that beat in his blood and turned into a drumbeat in his ears, but the panic was strong. He tried to get away but it was fruitless. He was weak. Always too weak to defend himself or his loved ones.

His bit down on a hand at his mouth, felt a disgusting taste spill on his tongue. Gulped a breath of air when the hand let go. It only made him dizzier but it gave him strength to kick his attacker in the shin and rush forward until the arm around his middle let go. He barreled into another body, hard as a wall, and the person grabbed at his wrists and squeezed until he screamed out in pain and fell to his knees.

They were talking; low mocking tones only registered as a white noise to him. Through the pain Credence opened his eyes. Ground was in front of him, dirty grey asphalt, stained with crimson. Keith had got a bullet in the brain for his trouble.

Credence felt bile rising in his throat. He was dragged up, weak as he was, and pushed into the car. After that, he passed out.

 

* * *

 

Credence came to to darkness and silence. His throat felt raw from screaming and if he moved bruises on his chest echoed with dull pain. Cold metal of handcuffs circled his wrists and when he tugged on a chain, it appeared to be attached to something near his head. Underneath was only a cold floor; Credence shifted until his back hit a wall. He leaned against it and closed his eyes.

There was panic, knocking softly on the door of his consciousness but he fought not to let it in. He knew, if the floodgates opened there would be no way to stop. And he needed a clear head for whatever was happening.

He got grabbed on the street, strange men attacked him and the driver and, after killing Keith, dragged Credence to their car. He had no idea who they were. Trying to remember what they looked like was no good – he was too overcome with fear and an instinct to fight to notice anything. He tugged on the chain that had him tied to the wall, stretching it away as much as he could, and wound both hands around his knees. He pressed his face into the top of them and waited.

It must have taken a long time, it was hard to tell in the dark, but he brought forward the memories of the last months to keep him company. Mr. Graves had turned up in his life so unexpectedly – Credence didn’t even imagine him becoming anything other than a random stranger, a handsome gentleman who stopped by in a sudden fit of kindness. But Mr. Graves kept coming back, so much so Credence started expecting to see his car appear on their street. Every time he noticed it turn the corner, his heart skipped a beat. His reaction was so startling, Modesty must have noticed; but she didn’t say anything. She knew what the consequences would be.

It always took Credence a long time to get used to new people, but Mr. Graves’s approach was so gradual, slow and cautious, he became a permanent fixture without Credence noticing. And then even more than that. He saved Credence. In every sense of the world.

Credence desperately wanted to see him now, in this strange prison. He painted a picture in his mind, but there, Mr. Graves only looked angry, his features sharp, lips pressed tightly and eyes burning. He had never looked at Credence like that, but somehow that was how he stood in Credence’s mind at that moment.

A door swung open, bringing a blinding column of light with it. Credence squinted against the sudden whiteness and brought his chained hands to his face in order to shield his eyes.

At first he heard a voice, speaking harshly in a language he did not understand. Then a man appeared, his massive figure highlighted in the doorway. He said something but Credence had no way of knowing whether he was addressed or not. Stress started taking over his body again and he trembled, scared of his unknown fate.

The man stepped inside and boomed with a boisterous laugh at the sight of him. It filled the room, deafening and menacing, and Credence jerked away so violently the chains rang. He pressed his hand together and to his chest, trying to calm down his violently beating heart. The metal cut into his wrists painfully but he barely noticed.

He looked up at his captor. The man was saying something, but not a word held any meaning for Credence. He knew though, when the man reached for him, grabbing Credence’s elbow roughly and pulling the young man to his feet, what would come next. This huge monster had no resemblance with Mary Lou, but something, the cold calculating fury in his eyes, was so familiar. When a hand rose to strike, he was ready. It did nothing to abate the pain, his cheek burned from the blow and lip stung where an edge of a heavy ring caught it, but it allowed him to keep a scream in, lodged in his throat. Mary Lou only grew more violent when they cried – Credence had learned it early.

Blood was on his tongue again and he despised the taste, spit it out at the man’s feet. Got another blow for the insolence.

Credence didn’t know what was happening, but he had suspicions. The only person important enough to warrant violent action against was Mr. Graves. And that knowledge gave him power, because whatever happened Credence would never betray Mr. Graves.

A question, shouted at him, left Credence more confused than fingers around his throat. He shook his head, incomprehensive, but otherwise kept quiet even as the hand squeezed his windpipe. A darkness that overcame him was welcome this time.

 

* * *

 

Credence didn’t know how long it had been. His stomach had been rumbling with hunger for a while now but the nerves and fear made him nauseated. He was lying on the floor, the concrete cold and hard at his spine, and held his hands aloft so that the chains would not pull at his abused wrists. It was an uncomfortable position, it strained his muscles, but at least it didn’t bring too much pain. Credence lay there, in silence, and waited. For what, he didn’t know. For more torture? For death? For a rescue?

He was tired. Stress had drained both his body and mind and he could only stare upwards, his head pleasantly clear of thought, and wait for a resolution.

There was a guard outside the door, Credence could hear their shuffling and occasional muttering and, after some time quiet but distinctive notes of a phone game being played. A ping and a muttered curse and then some more shuffling. Almost like there was a pattern to it.  He listened to it, trying to figure out a sequence.

Until the pattern was broken by something else. A thump – something heavy falling. The game shrilled, alerting the player to their loss, and then quieted with a crunch. Someone must have stepped on the phone.

A shiver ran through Credence, this time not of fear though – this was anticipation. His instincts had worked it out before his mind could – the lock was shot off and the door pulled open and another man was stepping inside the cell. This silhouette Credence could recognize anywhere.

“Mr. Graves,” he breathed out. A long moment of silence followed while Mr. Graves’s eyes took him in, gaze intense as it fixed on bruises and scratches and the blood on Credence’s hands. He half-turned and said to someone in the corridor:

“Wipe them out.” His voice was harsh and eyes angry. “All of them.”

He looked just as Credence had imagined him, moments or hours ago – how long had that been? Fury contracted his features, sharpening the lines of his face, but his ire was directed at those who had hurt Credence. It brought relief with a very thin streak of pleasure to course through Credence’s veins. Mr. Graves would not be angry with him. Mr. Graves was kind to him. Always.

The relief made him relax and lower his hands but he forgot about the cuffs and cried out in pain when they dug into the irritated skin. Mr. Graves was at his side in seconds, squinting in the meager light from outside to see Credence’s hands. There was no key but Mr. Graves had a gun in his hand and he shot the chain off which at least allowed Credence to move freely. The handcuffs still circled his wrists but he now managed to get up and move away from the damn wall.

Mr. Graves provided support as Credence stumbled to his feet. His sweater was bloody and disgusting and now when the danger had passed and all the smaller inconveniences were making themselves known, he tugged it over his head and off, wanting to be rid of it. To shake away the blood, both his and Keith’s. Mr. Graves let him do so without asking any questions and led Credence out with a supporting hand around him.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said leading the way.

Credence’s thin shirt was not enough to ward off the chill on the street and he shivered and huddled into Mr. Graves’s side. Bert had caught up to them near the car and handed Mr. Graves a key. They unlocked the handcuffs as soon the car took off, driving him away from this nightmare.

“How badly are you hurt?”

“Just bruises,” Credence assured. His lips were trying to form a smile but a sting of a broken lip stopped him.

Mr. Graves reached out and pressed his fingers lightly to the cut to assess the damage.  “It is alright,” Credence promised.

“No it’s not.” Mr. Graves’s expression turned hard again so Credence reached out for him in return, running his palms down the lapels of his jacket. “They will pay for what they did.”

His voice was still angry so Credence circled Mr. Graves’s neck with his hands and dragged himself closer, pressing his face to the hollow of Mr. Graves’s neck.

“And they will be an example. What happens to anyone who tries to take away what’s mine.”

“Am I, Mr. Graves?” Credence asked. “Yours?”

Hands reached for him, enveloping Credence in an embrace and then maneuvering his body so he was seated across Mr. Graves’s knees. It was a nice position. Warm and comfortable and safe.

“Yes.” Mr. Graves said and, oh, it felt like a kiss pressed to his temple.

There was blood on Credence’s face and hands, his flesh was hurt from a beating and muscles sore from staying in one position for too long. He was hungry and fatigued and could probably sleep for a whole day. The nightmares that haunted him at nights had just got a new way to make him scream. But there, in the warmth of Mr. Graves’s arms, was the best place.

This time when the dark claimed him Credence let go with a smile.

 

* * *

 

Credence hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. It was a middle of the night; he had thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all, after everything that had happened, but his mind slipped into oblivion the moment his head hit a pillow. But the sleep did not provide any blissful relief, his dreams reared up, worse than ever before, and he jerked away with a silent scream burning in his throat. It pulled at the cut on his lip and antagonized the bruises. Credence sat, panting and shivering, in his empty bed. He was exhausted but too scared to close his eyes.

Credence had imagined things would go back to normal. Mr. Graves had brought him home and let Mr. Stradford take care of the injuries, all the while hovering nearby. They pushed him into the shower and brought a change of clothes and fed him and escorted him back to bed in the end. Mr. Graves faltered even as Mr. Stradford left, asking once again if Credence was alright. It was difficult to persuade him but Credence was resolute not to cause any more trouble. Mr. Graves looked haggard and in desperate need of rest. He had cut his business trip short and spent the last day trying to figure out which gang had taken Credence.

“You can come to me if you don’t feel well.” Mr. Graves insisted when Credence had finally managed to convince him to leave.

Now, hours later, Credence stood in the dark corridor, indecisive.

He didn’t want to be alone. Mr. Graves’s company, he was certain, would be enough to chase away the demons, but the apprehension of being too much of a bother was strong. He didn’t want to chase Mr. Graves away. But he also could not stand to be alone. Not at that night.

It was chilly in the corridor and the cold from the floor seeped into his bare feet but still he couldn’t decide.

It’s easy, he told himself.

It was anything but.

Credence reached out and knocked. He regretted it the moment a harsh rap resonated in the room, seemingly deafening loud. He backed away, considering rushing back to his room, but there were steps on the other side, hasty, and the door was opened. Mr. Graves stood in the doorframe, sleep ragged and confused. His eyes cleared when he noticed Credence. Silently, he stepped away and gestured for Credence to step inside.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked.

Credence nodded meekly, now even more unsure than ever. He moved through the room and hesitated in the middle until Mr. Graves sat on the bed and patted a space at his side.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Credence replied as he perched on the end of the mattress. He stole a glance at the other man. Mr. Graves wasn’t wearing anything but a pair of pants that served him as pajamas. Credence averted his eyes quickly, before he would be caught staring. Instead he fixed his gaze on his hands. “Just…nightmares.”

Mr. Graves made a soft understanding noise; Credence could feel his eyes, burning a hole in the side of his face. There was intensity in that gaze but Credence was too fainthearted to return it. He stared ahead and didn’t move until he heard Mr. Graves let of a small sigh and offer, “You can stay here if you want. If it will make you feel better.”

Two sides fought inside of Credence: one that screamed at him to accept, to finally get what he wanted, be with Mr. Graves and relish in his closeness and his warmth, and the other, cautious one, said it was too much of a risk. There was no way to know how the other man viewed him, what he thought, what he wanted and what he was actually offering. He might just ruin everything with his reckless eagerness.

“You can sleep here tonight.” Mr. Graves suggested again.

“Yes.” Credence blurted out before any side could make a decision. He gulped, but did not back down. Slowly, he turned to see Mr. Graves’s reaction.

The other man seemed unperturbed, he simply moved aside and into the bed, leaving a large empty space for Credence. It was what he wanted, Credence reminded himself. Though, not exactly, not completely. Still, he slid under the covers. His hands trembled as he readjusted the pillow and he was short of breath by the time he turned on his side to face Mr. Graves. They lay without touching but still so close they were sharing the same air. Credence’s heart beat widely in his chest.

“Better?” Mr. Graves asked. He brushed the hair from Credence’s eyes, gently moving away the dark tresses so that they wouldn’t obscure Credence’s eyes. Unable to speak for the tightness of his throat and the dryness of his mouth, Credence nodded. His body was high strung, tense from such close proximity, but, even though he barely could breathe, it was a wonderful feeling.

“Good.” Mr. Graves said to his silent reply. Gently he ran his finger over the shell of Credence’s ear, tracing a strand of hair, and let go. “Good night.”

Credence watched him drift to sleep, listened to his breathing until it matched up with his own. He didn’t think he would be able to sleep again that night. But he did. And he didn’t dream. He was safe now.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a couple more ideas I'm hoping to realize. Like a Graves POV story and a Modesty POV story. Not making any promises, a writer's block had been known to hit me suddenly, but for now I don have some plans for future stories;)
> 
> Feedback is very much appreciated!:D And if you are interested you can talk to me about this AU (or anything really) on tumblr: [mysteryismyart](http://mysteryismyart.tumblr.com/)


End file.
